Promises
by Anna Skyfox
Summary: Rewrite of Deathly hallows.  It's as canon as i can make it up through and including half blood prince but after that all bets are off.  There will be slash later so beware of that if you're not a fan.
1. Prelude

**Disclaimer: This world and characters, with the exception of Teagan, obviously do not belong to me. No infringement or offense is intended. This holds for the whole of this work.**

* * *

><p>November 1981<p>

In an office in a tower in a castle that was also a school, a person was pacing. Her long oak colored curls fell down from a loose twist at the back of her head and swung belligerently against her back, like they were mocking her. It felt as if everything was mocking her. A knee length soft black leather jacket fell loosely around her thin frame. Her long fingers kneaded the sides of her forehead as she walked.

The door opened and the woman turned suddenly. A man entered. He looked tired, and old. His blue eyes, usually twinkling and bright, seemed dull. He looked up as he passed through the doorway and faltered, but only for a moment, before giving the young woman in his office a nod.

"Teagan," he acknowledged, before moving to sink into a plush chair behind the wide wooden desk. He sighed and grimaced slightly as the chair settled under his tall build. Teagan had approached the desk, her brows drawn together, her eyes crinkling with concern, but not for the man in front of her. She did not want to be there. He knew she did not want to be there. But she had had to come.

"Did you talk to him?" her question was laden with intensity, her voice sounding as if it were raking over rocks. Dumbledore opened one eye to look at her with slight bewilderment.

"To whom?" he asked.

Teagan's brow furrowed further.

"To who-? To Sirius!" she spluttered.

Dumbledore's body jerked, but, after a moment, he leaned back again in his chair.

"Sirius?" he said slowly, "No. I did not speak to Sirius."

"Well, where is he?" Teagan's arms were wrapped around her body, as if she were physically trying to hold herself together, "I've just left Remus. He's hysterical, sir! He-"

"Sirius has been taken to Azkaban," The headmaster said tiredly.

That stopped Teagan in her tracks. There was something in the air that had her skin prickling and set her teeth on edge. She knew this tone, this dead calm from the headmaster. She took a step toward him.

"When is the trial?" she asked carefully.

"There will be no trial, Teagan."

A cold panic gripped her guts. Her arms dropped to her sides, her hands clenching into fists.

"What do you mean 'there will be no trial?' " Dumbledore's words took a slightly mocking tone as she quoted them back to him. "Headmaster, you can't honestly believe that-"

"What I believe or do not believe is irrelevant," Dumbledore waved a dismissive hand, "There were witnesses, Teagan. The evidence is damning."

"But a trial could-"

"He's gone, Teagan," Dumbledore's eyes were suddenly very cold, "There is nothing you can do."

That panic in Teagan's stomach was growing, thick and black and boiling. Her eyes narrowed at Dumbledore.

"Where's Harry?"

"Harry is safe," the headmaster said languidly.

Bolts were twisting into place inside Teagan's mind, tightening down on something that she had long suspected until it was solidifying into understanding.

"I want to see Sirius," her chin lifted defiantly.

"You may not."

She had expected that. She crossed to Dumbledore's desk, her hands slamming flat onto the surface as she leaned toward him.

"Then I want to see Harry," she said, "And Remus should-"

"You cannot see Harry either. Harry is with his family."

"His family?" Teagan spat, "His family is dead. Or being held inexplicably in Azkaban as I understand it."

"Enough!" Dumbledore's voice was like a whip crack, and, despite herself, Teagan flinched.

"It's over, Teagan," he said.

"You can't do this," her voice sounded strange, like she was choking.

"It is not your decision, Teagan," Dumbledore said simply. But Teagan's lips curled back, showing her teeth.

"Conveniently," she snarled.

Teagan pressed her jaws together and straightened, but her black eyes flashed dangerously.

"Lily and James would not have-" but Dumbledore cut her off again, his tone like a scalpel.

"James and Lily are dead, as you so aptly pointed out," he snapped impatiently, rising behind his desk, "And Sirius will be convicted of murder, and worse. There is only one place left for Harry to go."

Teagan whole body was shaking with rage.

"I won't let you do this," she said. Dumbledore cocked his head to one side in a boyishly innocent expression that was nightmarishly contradictory to the cruel glint in his eyes.

"But how, my dear," his voice was cold and taunting, "are you going to stop me? By all means, you are welcome to try."

Teagan slowly shook her head from side to side, backing away from Dumbledore's desk, her gaze wide and horrified.

"You're insane," she breathed through numb lips.

"Perhaps," the old man sighed and slowly lowered himself back into his chair, "Now, if our conversation here is quite finished, kindly, get out of my office."

With a casual flick of Dumbledore's fingers, Teagan felt her feet leave the floor. She crashed unceremoniously through the door and down the spiraling staircase that led to Dumbledore's office, to land in a dull heap on the floor. She pushed herself up on her hands, her ears ringing and the inside of her head spinning. Her breath was coming in hard fast gasps and her heart was pounding.

The panic writhing in her innards finally crawled up her esophagus and burst out through her eyes and mouth. She scrambled to her feet. She turned and ran out of the castle. She kept running. And she didn't look back.


	2. Tumbling

**Part I- Anamnesis**

_16 years later._

Ch.1- Tumbling

Harry heard the bell ring out politely just as twilight was sneaking over the sill of his window. He stepped down the stairs carefully, expecting his guest, but nevertheless cautious. When he got to the front door, he placed his palms flat against it and stood slightly on tiptoe to look through the eyehole. Dropping his heels back to the floor, he hesitated, then he cleared his throat.

"What did Sirius Black give me the last Christmas before he died?" he softly asked the door.

"That's a trick question, Harry. Technically, Sirius _and__I_ gave you a collection of books called _Practical__Defensive__Magic__and__Its__Use__Against__the__Dark__Arts_. But Sirius also gave you another gift that holiday, if I'm not mistaken. Do you know what it was?"

Harry's finger traced down the wood grain of the door. He could feel his cheeks burning.

"A two way mirror."

"And what did he use it for originally?"

"To talk to my dad when they were in separate detentions," Harry's voice felt hoarse.

"May I come in?" Lupin asked quietly. Harry unlocked the door and opened it.

Lupin's eyes were sad. They were always sad, but Harry had thought being with Tonks might have helped to ease that somewhat. If anything, though, Lupin looked worse than the last time Harry had seen him. Deep shadows smudged under his warm golden brown eyes and over his gaunt cheeks. Harry stepped to one side and Lupin crossed the Dursley's thresh hold, his back very straight, his hands deep in the pockets of his worn gray overcoat. It looked too big for him, hanging loosely over the hills of his shoulders. The collar was turned up against the unseasonably damp evening. Harry closed the door quietly and the deadbolt gave a loud click as he turned it.

"It's good to see you, Harry."

Harry tried to smile, to show that the sentiment went both ways, but his face felt stiff, more like a grimace, and he eventually gave up.

"Thanks," he said, "You too."

Lupin pressed his lips together in a tight halfhearted expression of his own, and set a hand lightly on Harry's shoulder.

"Shall we sit?" he asked.

"Of course. I'm sorry," Harry shook his head at himself and led the way into the living room. It was cold in the house. Harry, being still underage, was not allowed to use magic outside of school, and had refrained dutifully. The last thing he needed was the Ministry to come pounding down the Dursley's door. Lupin eyed the half boarded up fireplace and turned to him.

"Your Aunt and Uncle have gone?"

"Yeah," he said, "They said I didn't need them to be here to be able to call it 'home.' I actually suggested it. Bit shocked they listened to me for once."

"That was wise, and considerate, of you, Harry."

"Yeah, well. It's not their fight really is it?" he looked down at his bare feet, curling his toes against the cold carpet.

"It is all of our fight," Lupin held Harry with his eyes for a few moments. Then he turned, withdrawing his wand, and aimed it at the fireplace.

"Incendio," he murmured and the wood in front of the brick hearth ignited and shot backward into the grate. The corner of Harry's mouth twitched up, a mix of appreciation and slight jealousy flicking fingers across his scalp with the new heat.

"Thanks."

"Certainly," Lupin pocketed his wand and collapsed onto the sofa with a sigh that he was not entirely successful in concealing, and a slightly pained expression crossing his face.

"Would you like some tea, Professor?" he nodded wearily.

"That would be lovely. Thank you."

Harry watched him as he crossed to the kitchen to retrieve the kettle. Lupin's eyes slipped closed and his head dropped against the back of the couch. Harry's brow furrowed as he poured hot water from the kettle into the waiting teapot. Gripping the tray, Harry turned, stopping abruptly just inside the kitchen door. Lupin had shrugged out of the large woolen coat, leaving it draped behind him over the cushions. He looked thin, bony, his button down shirt hanging oddly on his frame. Reclining on the sofa, almost as if he were sleeping, Harry realized how young Lupin actually looked underneath the scars and world worn lines. In that moment, if he hadn't known better, he wouldn't have thought that Lupin was very much older than himself.

Harry sat down gingerly beside him, and set the tray down on the coffee table. Lupin looked up with a faded smile. Harry poured the tea and handed him a cup, which Lupin held, just under his nose, wrapped in his slender fingers. His eyes slipped closed again as the steam collected in his eyelashes.

"Professor Lupin?"

"Remus, Harry," he said, without opening his eyes. "I'm not your teacher anymore."

"Remus?"

"Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. I'm fine. Thank you," he sighed and turned, his eyes seeming to darken, but he didn't elaborate.

"How is Tonks?"

He stiffened visibly and sat up.

"You didn't ask me here in order to talk about me," though his words were abrupt, they were not unkind. "Would you like to tell me what this is all about? Your letter sounded quite urgent."

Harry pulled one foot up on the couch and folded it under his opposite thigh. He took a breath.

"I need information. Dumbledore told me about some things before he died, things that have to be done to defeat Voldemort, but I . . . "

Lupin was watching him, intensity flickering orange with the refracted light from the fireplace in his eyes.

"Go on, Harry."

"I need to know anything you can tell me about Horcruxes."

Without pause, Lupin leaned forward and set his teacup down on the coffee table. His expression didn't change, but it was a long time before he spoke.

"The Headmaster explained the concept to you, I assume."

"Yes."

"Then what do you want to know?"

"How to destroy them."

"Them?"

Harry hesitated. Lupin didn't.

"Harry. How many are there?"

"Four more."

"More?"

"Yes. I . . ." Harry trailed off. Dumbledore had been clear that he wanted this kept a secret. A wave of guilt swept through him at what felt disturbingly like betrayal in his veins, but he pressed on. "Two of them have been . . . dealt with, and I know what the third one is, but not where."

Lupin was very still for a long time.

"So there were 6."

"And Voldemort."

"And Voldemort. How were the other two destroyed?"

Harry took another deep breath.

"With a basilisk fang . . . " he said slowly.

Lupin fell back against the couch.

"Tom Riddle's diary. Of course." His hands shoved up into his hair so that it splayed up between his fingers in odd directions. "And the other?"

"It was a ring. It belonged to Riddle's Grandfather. Professor Dumbledore destroyed it, but I don't know how. That's how he injured his hand last year."

A disconcerting shadow was settling over Lupin's face as he gazed fixedly on the ceiling, his hands still fisted in his hair. Harry could see some emotion writhing underneath Lupin's surface, but he couldn't decipher it.

"Uhm . . . Remus?"

"And the third? The one you've identified but not located?"

Harry reached slowly into his pocket and pulled out the fake locket he had taken from Dumbledore's body. His hand cupped around it, as he extended his arm and dropped it to the sofa cushion between them. Lupin stared at it for a long time, only his eyes slanting downward. Finally, he smoothed his hands along his scalp, wiped his palms on his threadbare trousers and leaned over to examine the locket.

"It's fake," Harry said, but Lupin was already frowning.

"I've seen that before," he reached out to turn it over with one finger. Harry felt a chill wash run down over his arms.

"You have? Where?"

Lupin didn't answer. His fingers closed around it gingerly and flipped at the catch. The locket popped open and the note fell from inside into Lupin's lap. He reached down and, grasping it with his delicate fingers, unfolded it carefully. His eyes moved rapidly across the small parchment, his face growing paler with each movement.

"Profes . .er . . . Remus?" but he still didn't respond. He seemed to be reading the message over again. Finally, his eyes flicked up like darts.

"Well, I can help you on one point at least, Harry," his voice was oddly clipped, almost mechanical, and he dropped the paper to the sofa seat so that the slanting script was upright and visible. "RAB. Regulus Arcturus Black," he said.

A thousand words jumped to Harry's brain to say, but none of them seemed to be willing to move passed his lips. It was very quiet in the room. Finally, Harry's mouth delivered a question.

"You're certain?"

"Yes. I . . . recognize the handwriting."

"Sirius' brother."

"Yes."

"But he's dead."

"It's clear from that note that he expected to be soon after writing it."

"Sirius said that Regulus panicked. That he tried to run away from Voldemort, from being a Death Eater. He said he got scared."

"He may have said that. I expect he would have wanted to believe so, but we never knew for sure."

"What do you mean he wanted it to believe it?"

"Harry," Remus sighed and leaned forward, "Surely you've realized by now that Sirius covered up a lot of grief regarding his family."

"Grief? Sirius hated his family."

"Yes. And why do you think that was?"

Harry stared at him in confusion. Sirius had said himself why he hated his family. They had followed Voldemort, had supported him. Sirius had hated their pure blood mania, their prejudice. He had told Harry that. But something was brushing at the corners of Harry's mind with icy fingers, and as he watched Lupin watching him, it started to crystallize into sharp chilling points in his mind.

"Sirius was raised in that family. Why didn't he believe the same way they did? Why did he get sorted into Gryffindor?"

Lupin didn't answer, and Harry wouldn't had heard him if he had. His focus was far away, buried in memory. He remembered standing in the drawing room in Grimmauld Place, the day Sirius showed him the Black family tree. That was the day he'd told Harry about Regulus- the first and only time Harry had ever heard him speak of his brother. Actually, it was the only time he'd spoken of his family at all, in any more detail that a flippant comment of sneering contempt, at least. Harry could still hear the bitterness in Sirius' voice when he talked about his name being burned off that tree, the anger when Harry had asked him why he'd run away and when he'd spoken of Bellatrix. There had been pain in his eyes, and something deeper, something guarded and curled and trembling. Shame.

"He was afraid of them," Harry breathed.

"Of himself, more to the point, but yes." Lupin looked away. "I remember when Regulus was sorted into Slytherin. He was only three years behind us in school, you know."

"No, I didn't know that."

"Your father went into Hogsmeade through the passage that night and stole a bottle of fire whisky. He spent the evening getting Sirius very very drunk, almost drunker than I've ever seen him. Almost. He was very upset."

Lupin gave an apologetic little smile, as if Harry would be offended by this additional entry in the long list of inappropriate deeds his father and Sirius had engaged in. Behind the smile, though, there was an intensity in his eyes that made Harry have to resist the desire to draw back. When Lupin spoke his voice was shaking slightly with repressed anger.

"As it turns out, there was far less of a monster in the Black blood than Sirius always believed."

A thick hot knot formed suddenly in Harry's throat, and he swallowed around it with effort. Lupin straightened, easing himself to his feet. He paced to the fireplace and back before he faced Harry again.

"I saw that locket at Grimmauld place, when I was staying there with Sirius, before . . . " he broke off, shaking his head quickly. "Sirius had taken it away from Kreacher. One of his salvaged remembrances of his former masters."

Harry sat up, every part of his body tingling and alert.

"So it could still be there?"

Lupin was biting his bottom lip, a worried line etched deeply between his eyebrows.

"Possibly."

"Well, where else would it be?"

"I don't know, Harry."

"Well, we can at least look, can't we?" Harry heard his voice rising, urgency pulsing in my ears, but seemed helpless to quiet it.

"Of course. Grimmauld Place is yours. You can go there whenever you wish."

"But . . . " Harry's brow furrowed to match Lupin's as logic caught up with adrenaline. "Even if it's there, how do I destroy it?"

Lupin was looking at him steadily. There was a determined set to his shoulders and the set of his worn shoes in the carpet that lit a pinprick of hope deep inside Harry's heart.

"I don't have an answer to that, Harry. But, " he had wilted, but Lupin cut in quickly, soft but insistent, "I do know someone who may."

He crossed to Harry then, extending his hand. Harry took it and stood up.

"Gather your things. We're going to the Burrow. Bill and Fleur's wedding is coming soon. I'm sure the Weasleys would appreciate your help. Ron and Hermione know about all of this I assume?"

"You can stay there for the time being. I'll know more in a few days."

"But, we have to go to Grimmauld Place. What if-?"

"Harry," Lupin's hands rested on Harry's shoulders, and he bent his frame to look him in the eyes, "Our first priority is to keep you safe. That was Dumbledore's priority as well. I'm asking you to trust me."

After a long minute, Harry nodded.

"Come on," he said, turning Harry's body gently with both hands toward the stairs, "Get your things. We're leaving."


	3. An Introduction to Waiting

Harry and Lupin apparated just outside the wards surrounding the Burrow. The damp air slid wet tendrils down the collar of Harry's shirt and slinked down his spine. His stomach churned and his sweaty palm tightened around his wand, out and at the ready. Lupin seemed about to speak but he was cut off as the door of the house burst open, pouring vibrant gold light into the thickness of the night. A small figure shot out the door and hurtled toward them. Harry barely had time to recognize Ginny, a look of fierce determination on her face, before she had thrown herself into him, her momentum forcing him back a step. His hands came up to her waist automatically but she was already pulling away. With one arm still secure around Harry's neck, her free hand latched onto Lupin's wrist and she dragged them across the barrier of wards that would only allow passage by those in the company of a member of the Weasley family.

"Tosspot," Lupin said mildly, disengaging himself from Ginny's grasp and straightening his robes. Harry rounded on him in shock but Ginny laughed at the stricken expression on his face.

"It's the password, Harry. Fred and George picked it. Obviously," she rolled her eyes. Harry shifted Hedwig's cage in his hand as they trudged toward the house. Lupin levitated Harry's trunk behind them.

"You probably should have asked us for it," Harry said softly. "How do you know I'm me?"

"I know you're you," Ginny said without looking at him, "Remus gave it in any case."

"Oh," Harry said intelligently. He looked up as a shadow fell across their faces. A hulking form had appeared in the doorway, entirely backlit by the light inside the house. One long arm reached out as they moved up the steps and pulled Harry into a rough one-armed hug.

"Alright, Harry?" Ron asked, releasing him and standing aside to let them cross the thresh hold. Hermione moved around him, embracing Harry warmly.

"Hi, Harry," she murmured.

"Hi," he said, his cheeks going pink at the attention, which only increased as he was quickly buried in a mountain of red hair and pulling hands and raucous voices. Fred and George were there clapping him loudly on the back, Mr. Weasley shook his hand, smiling broadly, and for fourteen terrifying seconds Harry was cretain he would suffocate as he was crushed into Mrs. Weasley's generously maternal bosom, before Ginny firmly took him by the elbow and rescued him.

"Come on, Harry," Ron said, shouldering Harry's heavy trunk across his back and turning toward the stairs. Harry smiled awkwardly at the other Weasleys before finding Lupin's eyes.

"Stop in before you leave, yeah?" Harry said and Lupin nodded, then turned toward Mr. Weasley.

"Arthur, might I have a word?"

"Of course," Mr. Weasley said, a slightly startled expression on his face as he studied the younger man. "Of course. In the kitchen? I'll make some tea."

Harry thought he heard Lupin sigh softly as he turned and followed Ron up the stairs, Hermione trailing behind them. They made a slow procession to Ron's room, turning left at the top of the stairs. Ron swung Harry's trunk to the floor of his room with a grunt as Harry sunk down onto the bed, lowering Hedwig's cage down beside his feet. Hermione hovered awkwardly near the door.

"Are you alright, Harry?" she asked, watching him carefully.

"I really wish people would stop asking me that," Harry muttered moodily, running his hand back through his unruly hair.

"Did you talk to Lupin?" Ron asked, then immediately went slightly pink, "Well, obviously you did but-"

"What did he say?" finished Hermione in an anxious voice, "Did he say anything?"

Harry sighed and looked up at his friends.

"It's Sirius' brother. RAB. Sirius' brother, Regulus," he said softly. Ron's eyes went wide and Hermione sucked in a sharp breath.

"He's sure?"

Harry nodded. "He said he'd seen the locket at Grimmauld Place. Sirius had it."

Hermione gasped and Harry and Ron looked at her sharply.

"What?"

"I remember!" she said, her hand lifting to her throat, her eyes slightly wild, "We all saw it. Before your hearing Harry, remember? We were cleaning and there was a locket that none of us could open. How could I have forgotten about it?"

Ron was gaping at her, lowering himself slowly to sit on Harry's trunk.

"Forgotten about it? How could you possibly remember that Hermione? Honestly, your brain is dead spooky."

Hermione colored slightly but her lips twitched in a pleased expression as she looked down at her hands.

"Well, Sirius had it after that. Before he . . . before he died," Harry choked on the last word and Ron shifted his feet uncomfortably. Hermione touched Harry's knee gently, but he shifted slightly away. He shook his head.

"Remus said he knows someone who might be able to help with the Horcruxes," Harry stood up, feeling agitated, and paced the room.

"Who?"

"I don't know. He said he needed a few days."

"But he said they could help? How?"

"I don't know," Harry said, again, exasperated, "But what else have we got?"

"Harry," Ron took a breath, "what do you want to do?"

Harry could feel their eyes on his back, waiting for him to give a direction. The problem was he didn't have one. He turned back to them, leaning heavily against the wall.

"Dumbledore thought the other Horcruxes might be somehow connected to Hogwarts. We have to try to figure out what they might be."

"How?" Ron looked slightly lost. Hermione stood up, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

"Well, I brought my copy of _Hogwarts:__A__History_. We could start there?"

Ron grinned at her.

"_Hogwarts:__A__History_ to hunt Horcruxes. One of these days, Hermione, that book is going to fail you, and then where will you be?"

Harry laughed as Hermione tossed her bushy hair indignantly behind her shoulder.

"How have things been here?" Harry asked, shifting the topic abruptly. Hermione looked at Ron, who sighed.

"Mum's driving everyone mad, so not that different than normal," Ron frowned at his hands. "I haven't told Mum and Dad that I'm not going back to school."

"Maybe we will go back, if the other Horcruxes are there," Hermione suggested, trying, and failing, to keep the slight hope out of her voice.

"I doubt we'll have much time to study Charms while we're looking for a load of evil soul splitting artifacts, Hermione," Ron said quietly. Hermione blinked rapidly and dropped her head. Ron's attention lingered on her, an uncharacteristic tenderness on his face.

"What did you tell your parents, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"They . . . well, I told them they should leave the country. They didn't want to go."

"No, they didn't want you to stay," said Ron.

"Can't blame them for that," Harry said.

"Ron and Mr. Weasley came along," Hermione whispered.

"You did?" Harry raised an eyebrow at Ron.

"Dad gets on with them really well, you know, so . . . " Ron shrugged nonchalantly but he couldn't quite meet Harry's eyes.

"So they left?"

"Yes," Hermione's gaze was still trained on the floor, "They agreed eventually."

"It's for the best, Hermione," Ron said gently.

"I know," Harry saw two fat tears roll off the end of Hermione's chin, catching the light with a flashing glint as they fell to the ground. Ron stood, crossed the room and wrapped a long arm around Hermione's shoulders. Harry shifted awkwardly.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he mumbled. She wiped her eyes with her fingertips.

"Don't be sorry, Harry," she croaked. "It's not your fault. It's like Sirius said, remember? There are things worth dying for."

Harry felt as though a steel hand was squeezing his ribcage. He spun away, swallowing hard just as a knock came on the door. Thankful for a distraction, he opened it, stepping to one side to let Lupin in. Clearing his throat roughly, Harry looked up at the older man. Lupin's eyes squinted for half a second, darting briefly to Ron and Hermione, before returning to Harry's haggard face.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Lupin said.

"It's ok," Harry said rather more gruffly than he intended.

"I was wondering, Harry, if I might borrow Hedwig? It shouldn't be more than a few days."

"Oh. Sure. Of course," Harry crossed to the bed. Hedwig gave a inquisitive hoot as Harry lifted her cage from the ground and handed it to Lupin.

"Thank you," Lupin took the cage carefully, twining his long fingers around the ring at the top. "I'll take my leave then. I will check in tomorrow, Harry. Alright?"

Lupin rested his hand on Harry's shoulder, the weight comforting, and Harry nodded. Lupin squeezed it for a half second, inclined his head to Ron and Hermione and was gone.

"What was that about?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged half heartedly, but lingered in the doorway, watching Lupin descend the long staircase. It was only when he turned back into the room that he realized Ron and Hermione were watching him. After a moment, Ron stood up and stretched.

"Have you had dinner yet, Harry? I'm starving. Let's go see if there's any pie left."

Harry smiled wanly and followed them out the door.


	4. Go

_Dear Fox,_

_I hope you know that I have tried my best to respect your silence, but recent events have left me at a loss. Albus is dead. You have knowledge and experience that we lack. I am writing to you, not on behalf of myself, but for Harry. I cannot help him by myself. Lily and James would have wanted you here. Sirius would have wanted you here. Please come home._

_This owl is resourceful and trustworthy. I will see you soon_

_With all my warmest regards,_

_Remus J. Lupin_

* * *

><p>Sun was breaking through the curtains above Harry's bed. He was already awake. He'd been awake for hours. Across the room Ron's deep rumbling breathing continued in an even unbroken stream. With an internal groan Harry rolled over and let his bare feet fall to the floor. The boards were worn almost soft and felt cool and soothing against his skin. He sat for a moment curling and uncurling his toes against them. Heaving another sigh, he leaned over and picked up a thin gray t-shirt from where he had discarded it next to the bed the night before. Slipping his arms into the sleeves, he pulled it over his head and stood up. The mattress creaked loudly as it was relieved of his slight weight. Ron snorted in his sleep but did not move. Harry gave him a cautious look and, padding quietly across the floor, slipped out the door.<p>

He hovered on the landing. It ran in a square shaped aisle around an open space in the center of the house that housed numerous staircases. Running one tired hand over his face, Harry's other hand trailed along the worn banister opposite him. He turned the corner and started down the steps. Each one creaked threateningly under him, no matter how slowly he moved. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned left and pushed open the door to the kitchen. He stopped short at the unexpected glow of lights and life from inside.

Ginny was at the stove setting a tea kettle on the burner to boil. Harry hesitated, then cleared his throat. She looked up and gave him a tired smile.

"I heard you coming," she said. "Hi."

"Hi," Harry's hand wandered up to the back of his head and threaded his fingers uncomfortably through his hair.

"What're you doing up?" Ginny asked.

"Couldn't sleep," Harry shifted on his feet and leaned back against the wall next to the door.

"Nor me," Ginny flicked a few strands of strawberry hair over one shoulder with her fingertips and arched an eyebrow. "You can sit, Harry. I promise I won't bite."

"Oh," he responded intelligently, his hand moving to rub absently at the back of his neck. "Ok."

He eyed the table skeptically and settled for a chair half way across from her. She watched him for a few minutes then sat down with him, leaving one empty chair between them. Harry felt a dull pang underneath his ribs.

"Any word from Remus?" Ginny asked, her index finger absently tracing geometric patterns across the woodgrain of the table. Harry found it very distracting, but her question startled him and he looked up.

"How did you-?"

She gave him an incredulous look.

"The house isn't that large, Harry. It's not hard to be observant."

Harry frowned.

"No. No word," his voice was tight with concern and a little resentment, "He said a few days but I thought I might have heard something by now."

"Antsy, are you?" Ginny smirked, but Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Well, yes. Of course I am," he said. That seemed to stop her cold. She blinked and looked down at her hands.

"Of course you are," she said, more to herself than Harry. "Maybe he doesn't have anything to tell you yet?" she shrugged lightly, but her shoulders seemed heavy as they moved.

"He could tell me that at least, then," Harry grumbled, the frown deepening as he stared decidedly at a point on the wall over Ginny's left ear.

"I don't think Remus is much in the habit of volunteering information," Ginny said, and Harry met her eyes. "Just an observation."

"And that would make him unlike the rest of the Order how?" Harry said bitterly. Ginny's lip curled and she stood up to turn again to the stove.

"Yes, Harry. You're right. Your indignation is completely warranted, since you are so very open with everyone," her sarcasm was painfully evident even with her back turned. Harry felt a rush of guilt spin through his ears as Ginny shifted the kettle on its burner.

"Ginny-"

"Don't, Harry," she sighed. "I know why you don't want to talk about it. I think you're wrong, but I do understand." She turned to face him, but her eyes were fixed on the ceiling. "I do." She said, but Harry wasn't sure it was true. He opened his mouth to say so, but closed it abruptly as Ginny closed her eyes.

"I can't, Ginny."

"I know, Harry," her eyes tightened. Harry swallowed.

"It doesn't seem like you do," he said.

"I know you think you can't," she opened her azure gaze on him then and his breath hitched, "That's all that really matters isn't it?"

Harry felt his face twist in a grimace of frustration, and his hand climbed to the back of his neck again. The kettle whistled a low note behind Ginny's back and as she turned to move it from the burner, Harry sighed deeply. This was like torture. For both of them. It wasn't right.

Ginny set two cups of tea on the table, and sat down in the chair next to him. He wrapped his hands around the chipped mug and glanced at her sideways. Her long hair was tucked behind her ear on the side closest to him and he could see the sorrow in her face. He wanted to take it away. He wanted it gone. Without thinking, he reached out and took her hand.

"What can I do, Ginny? I don't know what else to do," he lifted their hands together in a gesture of futility. Ginny shook her head, but her fingers tightened around his. A long heavy silence settled comfortably over them for several minutes, then Ginny looked up at him with radiant shining eyes.

"How can you not be afraid?" she said, "How are you not terrified? I'm terrified for you." Her beautiful face was open and earnest and Harry smiled sadly.

"I am," he said.


	5. First InterludeFirst Movement

**_My name is Sirius Black._**

**_ There's a voice in my head that tells me that that's true. Over and over again it tells me, insists upon it. I've built a wall around the place I keep that name, made out of cement and barbed wire. It's wearing down. Some part of me knows that eventually it will fall, would recognize that eventually it will fall if I let myself take any moment to think about what time means._**

**_ Other voices try to remind me about time. They speak of things like forever, and eternity, stretching out before me, filled with bodies and pain and soul splitting isolation. They tell me that I'll never die. They tell me that I'll always be here with them, that I have always been here with them. They bring things with them, dragged beaten pups along behind. Words, and movement, and memory. Has there ever been anything but this? Have I always been here? And I despair._**

**_ But then that voice, familiar somehow, whispers._**

**_ "Your name is Sirius Black."_**

**_ And that name . . . _**

**_ There are things attached to it. Fleeting things that brush my eyes and I reach for them. Blood and soft kisses and an anguished cry calling out that name and an energy that fills me with a need to destroy and to create._**

**_ Sirius Black._**

**_ Bile rises in my throat, but there's a boy beside me with tousled black hair and glasses that glint with some unseen light source in front of his hazel eyes._**

**_ I struggle to speak._**

**_ "Your eyes . . . " I choke out, "Your eyes are different."_**

**_ I don't know where the thought comes from. I only know that it's true. He laughs and it is so familiar._**

**_ "You're thinking of Harry," the boy says, then his face sobers. "Keep thinking of him, Sirius. Remember Harry."_**

**_ I do remember Harry. A tiny baby drooling quietly in my arms. A shock of black hair, fist in mouth, dark green eyes that captivate me. I'm in that room, his baby smell of whole milk and talcum powder filling my nostrils, making my eyes water. I want to sneeze. I want to raise my head and look around the familiar place with its hard wood floors shining below a roaring fireplace and red brick walls. I can almost see it. I want to look up and see faces, but those green eyes have a vice grip on my lungs. I can feel a presence, then, behind me, a warm touch of slender fingers on my elbow, a soft breath on my neck, trembling with laughter. I feel my shoulders ease, my face relax. It was all a dream. I want to turn and see him. Then it's all gone._**

**_ A name is ripped from my throat before I can register it in my disintegrating mind. It rolls off my tongue like lightning into a snowstorm, bringing a shining instant of clarity._**

**_ "Hold on, Sirius. Hold on," It's a woman's voice this time. Hold on to what? I hear her. Where is she?_**

**_ I clamp the wall down around it, around the memory of the baby and a name spoken, but unknown. I can't see his face, just the fingers on my arm, his breath tingling on my skin._**

**_ I want to weep. I try to weep, but there's only silence upon silence in this silent place. I feel my hands trying to close on something precious, but the silence is deafening. I retreat into those green eyes and that touch, backing away into the furthest corner of my mind as a piercing cry pierces the silence._**

**_"__Blood__traitor,__" __it__drips__from__the__walls__like__vengeance.__ "__Sin__of__my__flesh.__"_**

**_ Someone slaps my face, and from deep inside my mind I watch my body contort with a detached interest._**

**_ "Shame," there's spittle on my face I notice, "You shame me," and from behind my wall, the words almost don't hurt me. Almost._**

**_ I slide down the wall with my back against it, trying to prop it up, to protect the precious things I'm hoarding here: green eyes, and kisses and breath on the nape of my neck and my name._**

**_ "You're mine," that vicious voice says, "My son. You'll never get away. You're mine forever now." And I begin, again, to disappear into despair._**

**_ And then, so softly, as if struggling to me through time, I hear that whisper._**

**_ "You're name is Sirius Black."_**


	6. Hair Dye and Hand Grenades

**Author's note: This is the new chapter.**

Remus had expected a little hole in the wall, with beer nuts on the bar top and an unknown substance sticking his feet to the floor. That was his image of America. But it was contemporary, cultured, with wide banistered patios running around the second floor in deep grained mahogany wood. The bar sat back off of a cornered boulevard, the end of which was paved in worn quaint cobblestones. A collection of a dozen small wrought iron tables dusted the area in front of the building, filled with lovely chattering people around Remus' age. They drank Bloody Mary's and ate stuffed mushrooms and calamari next to a small bubbling fountain under a large oak tree strung with tiny twinkling yellow lights. The air was warm but a light breeze coming in off the lake gave just enough coolness to the air to justify the worn chocolate brown hooded sweatshirt he wore over his thin t-shirt.

The occupant at the table nearest the entrance had her back to him. Curled around the legs of her chair and and around her feet was a large Irish Setter, its auburn hair glinting like autumn in the dappled light falling through the tree branches. A worn brown leather collar slung loosely around the dog's neck, attached to a dark blue leash that wrapped up around the table leg and around the woman's wrist. The dog raised its head inquisitively as Remus approached. Sinking slowly down beside the table, he balanced on the balls of his feet and extended a hand. The dog stretched out its long shining neck to sniff his fingers delicately.

"Told you not to talk to strangers," a woman's voice said from above him. He squinted up at the table's occupant, her form back lit and shadowed by the sun.

"I'm sorry," he said, and cast his eyes back down to the dog. He slid his hands gently underneath the dog's ears and ruffled the soft fur behind them. "But you're so beautiful," he said to the animal.

"And he knows it," the woman said. Remus chuckled and leaned forward to lay his cheek gently against the top of the dog's soft head.

"I had a dog just like that once," he murmured. Breathing in the humid dog smell, he leaned back, one hand trailing down to scratch along the animal's shoulder. "What's your name?" he asked it.

"Jem," was supplied from above. His smile broadened fondly to show all his teeth.

"_To Kill A Mockingbird." _He looked up. "It's my favorite book."

"One of mine too. But he's not my dog. I only named him."

Remus raised an eyebrow at the faceless form.

"He's not yours?"

"I'm watching him for a friend."

"A friend that let you name their dog? Must be some friend," he smirked.

"Just a friend, Remus, you prick."

And Remus laughed loudly, releasing the dog and standing up to take in the young woman's face. It was framed by long dark tendrils of hair that slipped softly across her cheeks and throat. Her black eyes were deep and almost pupilless.

"'Prick?' How very American of you, Fox."

"Yes well, Wisconsin will turn you to depravity more quickly than most places."

He slid into the seat opposite her, the remnants of his smile still feeling good enough on his lips that he let them linger, unwilling to part with them.

"You look well, Teagan," he said.

"Ever the flatterer."

"I like the hair. Glamour?"

"Hair dye, Moony. These muggle chemicals work wonders, you know."

"So I've been told," he said wryly. "A pureblood witch resorting to muggle mechanics like hair dye. Lily would be so proud."

The words flew from his mouth thoughtlessly and as soon as he said them he cursed himself. As if in slow motion he watched Teagan's face turn to stone and their nostalgic banter come to a grinding halt. His breath caught at the back of his throat and he reached across the space between them and took her hand.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. She gave a slow twitch that, after several attempts, converted itself into something near a smile.

"It's alright," she said. "I just haven't thought about her in a long time."

"Liar," Remus' voice was gentle. She looked at him steadily, and the hard sadness there had Remus' fingers twining around hers.

"I am," she said. "A liar."

"I understand," he said. She swallowed and tightened her grip on his hand. He pretended that the trembling he felt between their hands was from briskness in the air.

"I read, in the paper, about Sirius," she said slowly, and his mouth went dry. "I'm so sorry, Remus." He turned his lips slowly.

"Thank you," he said through a throat that was seemed coated with sandpaper.

"How are you doing?" It occurred to Remus that from almost anyone else, the question would have seemed disingenuous. But it was Fox, perhaps the only one really left that could pose that question and really understand what she was asking. He found himself wanting, in a way he hadn't with anyone in the last year, to be honest with her.

He studied the cuticles of her nails as his heart inverted. An image flashed up suddenly from memory, so vivid he felt the muscles in his hand spasm against her palm. It floated up insistently, like a beach ball that one tries, in futility, to hold underwater. He could see Teagan, her longer lighter curls, dripping wet, as she stood barefoot in the doorway of Hogwarts. Sirius' black leather jacket was draped across her shoulders. Her head was lowered but her eyes lifted to him and Lily, who was standing beside him, filled with apology. Sirius had her small form tucked securely into his side, his big hand wrapped around her arm just above the elbow. There was snow in his hair, making the jet black locks cling to his noble forehead with abandon. His eyes were on Remus, and though the set of his lips was mocking, his smoky irises conveyed nothing but reassurance. Remus remember that the relief that had surged through him had made him dizzy.

"I miss him," he heard his voice in the present say, and he looked up at Teagan's face. She covered his hand with her other one.

"He never really came back from Azkaban, you know," Remus said dully. "A few parts of him did, but it was as if most of him died that day with James and Lily."

There were a thousand things that Teagan could have said in response to that that wouldn't have surprised Remus in the slightest. She would understand the shared loss, after all, of their friends and of each other. She could have shut down, changed the subject, made some crude joke, as Fox was want to do, and Remus would have know that it was more out of respect for the privacy of his grief than due to any need of her own. Avoidance was not generally in Teagan's nature. Not generally. Which is why he also would have understood if she had lashed out, defended her own decision to run, reiterated that it had all been for nought from the start, as she had done so many times so many years ago. The memory of that was still quite vivid for Remus too. She could have stated simply and bluntly that what Remus had said was true. Of course it was true. Who could survive Azkaban with their identity intact? It was a miracle Sirius had survived at all, and insist that Remus had been chasing ghosts in trying to coax Sirius back from a land of living death in those months before he gave up the fight completely and actually died. She could have said what Albus and Molly and Nymphadora had all said- that Sirius was gone and Remus had to move on with his life, succeeding only, with those words, of making Remus withdraw further and further within himself to a place where Sirius still lived inside him, convincing him only that they did not, could not, ever understand.

But she didn't. She didn't say anything. She stared at his face, an indecipherable web of thoughts and emotions so evident that Remus could see them connecting and passing each other, like years turning over in her mind. Finally she, in a way that could only be described as tender, let go of his hand.

"Come on," she said and stood up. He followed her movements as she took out a dark green leather wallet, removed some bills that Remus could not recognize and tossed them onto the table. Her deft fingers untwisted Jem's leash from where it tangled around her arm and, slipping a hand briefly under the dog's jaw in an affectionate gesture, urged the animal to his feet.

"Where are we going?" Remus asking, standing as well.

"To take Jem home. You can meet Corie. Then I have to run some errands. You're going to come with me and you're going to tel me all about Lily and James' son."

She turned as if this were obvious and irrefutable, making a clicking noise against her teeth to urge Jem forward.

"And then?" Remus said lightly, lengthening his steps to get to her side.

"And then," she said, raising an eyebrow, "We'll go home."


	7. Discussions in Containment

**Author's note: I actually added a chapter before this one, so please go to the previous chapter for the new chapter (Hair Dye and Hand Grenades). I just felt it needed a little more of a transition. Apologies. I guess that's what happens with a work in progress.**

A week passed. Late in the evening, with four days remaining until the wedding, Harry and Ron were sitting opposite together in the living room of the Burrow. Harry sat wearily on the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, his fingers pushed under his glasses, the heels of his hands grinding into his eyes. Ron was glaring intensely into the fireplace, as if it had done him some personal wrong, when Mrs. Weasley entered. She tutted, looking purposefully at the clock.

"Alright, now, boys. It's almost midnight. Time for-" but Ron cut her off abruptly, his tone strangely cold and indifferent.

"Not tired. You, Harry?"

He grunted noncommittally.

"Come on, now," Mrs. Weasley picked up a blanket tossed untidily across the back of Ron's chair and folded it against her body. "Lots to do tomorrow. Bed now."

Harry sighed and sat up but stilled immediately when Ron spoke again.

"I said I'm not tired, Mum. I'm going to sit up for awhile."

Harry watched Mrs. Weasley with only his eyes. Frozen like a animal in a trap, he waited for the explosion.

"Ronald Weas-" Mrs. Weasley began but Ron turned to her sharply, his eyes flashing.

"Why is this hard to understand?" Ron said tersely, "We're not children anymore, in case you hadn't noticed. We'll go to bed when we're ready. You go to bed if you like, but Harry and I need to talk." Harry sat there, his face mirroring Mrs. Weasley's, his mouth hanging open. In his peripheral vision, Harry saw Mr. Weasley step warily into the room.

"But, Ron . . . " Mrs. Weasley spluttered. She looked comically shocked, her mouth opening and closing with soft puffs of air as she fumbled for words. "It's late. You should-"

"Should what? Seems like bedtimes are for normal people and our lot hasn't been normal for a long time, Mum. Might as well get used to it." Resolutely, Ron turned his back on her to resume glowering into the fire.

"Harry?" Mrs. Weasley said, turning to him suddenly and pointedly, apparently deciding to try a different tack. There was something beseeching in the furrow of her brow, and Harry gaped at her helplessly. Harry eyes darted to Ron's brooding face, and back to Mrs. Weasley, where anger was quickly sliding away to hurt that tied his stomach into knots. He swallowed thickly.

"We'll be up soon," Harry said gently.

Mrs. Weasley's face fell, and Harry was horrified to see her lower lip start to tremble.

"I . . ." her attention flicked back and forth between what Harry hoped was an apologetic expression on his face and the back of Ron's head. Finally, Mr. Weasley stepped forward and laid a hand carefully on her shoulder. She jumped and turned to him imploringly.

"Goodnight, boys," Mr. Weasley said with a nod, and deftly maneuvered a still shocked Mrs. Weasley toward the stairs.

"Night Dad. Mum," Ron said vaguely. Harry echoed goodnights in a murmur, watching them disappear before rounding on Ron.

"Bloody hell, Ron. What was that about?"

Ron shrugged.

"Time we all grew up. Mum as well," he muttered darkly, but when he looked up at Harry, his expression had evened out. "Haven't heard from Lupin yet?" he asked flatly.

Harry sighed into the air and returned to his earlier position, his hands burrowing into his cheekbones.

"You know I haven't."

"Harry, we have to do something. What if something happened?" Ron said insistently, reminding Harry poignantly of Hermione.

"He's fine," Harry said sharply.

"How do we know that?"

"It's only been a week."

"But what if we don't hear from him? What if he's-"

"He's fine," Harry said firmly, jerking to sit upright. "He's delayed. That's all." There was a moment's silence in which Ron averted his eyes.

"What's Lupin doing for the Order right now anyway?"

"Last I knew he was trying to make nice with the werewolves," Harry said his spine sagging wearily, "But that was awhile ago."

"Lost cause, isn't it. He can't still be working on that."

"I don't know. I don't think so. Everything's different since . . ." Harry trailed off, frowning. He thought of smatterings of conversations he'd had with Remus- of his careful ambiguity and easy evasion. "I don't know," he said finally.

"So what do we do then, Harry?" Ron asked.

Harry felt a intense flare of annoyance.

"How should I know?" he snapped, "I know it seems like I should have some kind of profound insight, Ron, but I don't." An uneasy feeling crept up Harry's neck. It was not Ron's fault, he knew, that he felt so lost, so powerless, but pressure was pushing down on Harry like an anvil weight.

A long pause followed before Ron got up abruptly and crossed to a cabinet in the far corner of the room. He removed a crystal beaker and two glasses. Harry leaned forward, interested, as Ron poured. The liquid was a deep amber brown and sloshed pleasantly as Ron crossed back to the couch again and sat beside Harry, handing him a glass.

"Cheers," he said, and clinked Harry's glass before tossing the liquid back. Harry spared only one brief glance toward the stairs before following suit. It burned down his throat in a manner that rather suited Harry's pinprick mood. He felt his eyebrows raise slightly as he held his glass out to be refilled. Ron smirked.

"_Accio Firewhiskey_," he said, and the beaker flew from the cabinet to his hand. Wordlessly he poured some into Harry's glass and his own.

"You know," Ron said abruptly, "we could just tell them."

"What?" Harry choked on his whiskey. It was starting to make his brain feel warm, and he felt like he had maybe missed a beat in the sensation.

"About, you know, what we're doing," Ron said, and looked steadily at Harry over the rim of his rumbler as he took a sip. "About the Horcruxes."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, contemplating the liquid in his glass.

"We could," he said carefully.

"But you don't want to."

"I," Harry kept his interest firmly on the crystal in his hand, "thought you would understand this." Harry looked up from under his fringe and met Ron's cobalt gaze, so like his sister's.

"I do," Ron sighed heavily. "I do, Harry. But I'm not sure I should. Not sure you should either."

"What do you mean?"

"I know," Ron said slowly, "that you don't want anyone else to get hurt, mate, so you don't want them involved. I don't want anyone hurt either."

"Right . . ." Harry drew out the word hoping to coax his friend to a point.

"It's just," Ron turned his glass absently in his hand, letting the liquid run thickly around the sides, "seems like that hasn't worked that well before."

"What hasn't?"

"Keeping people in the dark," Ron looked up at Harry, something intense and sad and probing in his eyes, "When has that every worked for us, Harry? It made you miserable."

Harry frowned. The sharp bitter edge of isolations on Privet Drive, cut off from contact and information and reality, still ached when Harry thought about it.

"It's not the same Ron, and you know it."

"No I don't," Ron said, sounding surprised. "How's it different?"

"Because . . . that was me," Harry shook his head, but a shadow crossed Ron's face.

"That was you," he repeated stiffly.

"I don't mean it like that," Harry grimaced, and threw back a large swallow of the burning liquid in his frustration, which caused him to cough a little. "Trouble finds me, Ron," he choked out, "That happens no matter what I know or don't know."

Ron made a derisive sound.

"Oh right," his lip curled as he spoke, "Trouble only finds you. I forgot. It's your cross to bear. 'The Chosen One,' and all that." He shook his head and sipped his whiskey. Harry's eyes narrowed.

"You sound like Snape, you know," he snarled. Ron gave a humorless laugh.

"Reckon I do," he said.

Harry felt fit to snap. A rush of warmth ran down his arms that was not from the drink. He got to his feet.

"You're a bastard."

"Yeah," Ron said resignedly but reached out a hand that hung, palm up, in midair. "Harry wait."

Ron's voice was low, but Harry halted, his head bowing. A forced breath expelled in a stream from his lips. He turned and sat on the arm of the sofa near Ron's chair.

"It's not your fault that all that shit has happened to you," Ron said and Harry rolled his eyes to the ceiling incredulously. "It's not," Ron said softly. Harry tried to smile but it was thin and disbelieving.

"That's nice of you to say, mate, after the number of times I've almost gotten you and Hermione killed."

"Oh, that's just bollocks," Ron waved a hand dismissively. Harry started counting of points on his fingers.

"The Forbidden Forest when we met Aragog. Hermione getting petrified by a basilisk. That night in the Shrieking Shack where you broke your leg and were chained to a bloody werewolf."

"Good times," Ron quirked a crooked smile at Harry from the corner of his eyes.

"The Department of Mysteries." That hung in the air like a slimy stench.

"And how were any of those your fault?" Ron said. "No one forced me to be there. Nor Hermione." His brow furrowed suddenly as if he was concentrating. "I keep thinking about her, you know."

"Hermione?"

"Yeah."

"What about her?"

Ron's jaw tightened, his neck stiff, his hands restless.

"Do you remember, before fifth year, when we were all staying at Grimmauld Place and mum tried to banish that boggart?" Harry's mind stiffened in reflex, as it always did at the mention of Grimmauld Place.

"Yeah," he said, through gritted teeth.

"Her biggest fear was that we were all dead. Lupin said she didn't have to worry. That the Order was loads more prepared this time. He said that before people were picking them off one by one-"

"I remember," Harry said.

"He said it was different than that this time, but it doesn't feel like it is, does it? Doubting everyone all the time, sneaking around to get information, second guessing everybody we meet and know and love. Even if we say it's for their own protection, it still feels like stabbing them in the back doesn't it? It's fucking wretched."

Harry blinked, something unfurling slowly as he looked at his friend. In truth, 'fucking wretched' was a pretty apt description of what Harry had been feeling the last several weeks, but he had assumed his feelings were only his own.

"Yeah," he agreed, "It is"

"But what I keep thinking about is how so much of it could have been avoided," Ron raised a hand and rested his chin in the palm, his eyes taking on disturbed far off quality. "How would things have been different if Ginny had told us about Tom Riddle's diary in second year. Or if anyone had told you Sirius even existed before he broke out of Azkaban. Or about Lupin for that matter. Or if your parents had told Dumbledore that they'd switched secret keepers back then."

"It doesn't do any good to think about it, Ron," Harry said, his voice feeling shaky in his throat. Ron's eyes swung back to Harry's and pinned him unexpectedly.

"If Dumbledore had told you what he thought your visions were in fifth year, we never would have gone to the Ministry. And if we hadn't, then Sirius wouldn't have either."

Harry swallowed several times in succession. His hands were gripping his knees so hard he could feel his nails digging into skin through his jeans. Ron shook his head.

"Those secrets cost a lot, and for what? What did we get out of any of it? I just think that maybe we should be more wary about what we keep from the people we care about than what we tell them. What have we got if we can't trust each other? We're all supposed to be in this together, right?"

"That's what my parents thought about Pettigrew," Harry said, his voice sounding like cracks in granite. "And I told Dumbledore everything I found out about Snape and he trusted him anyway."

"Fair points," Ron's face made a concillatory movement, then turned inquisitive. "Is that why you broke up with Ginny? Because you're afraid she'll betray us?"

Harry's eyes widened immediately.

"What? No!"

"Well, what then?"

Harry opened his mouth, closed it, and looked away.

"You're really in rare form tonight, aren't you, Ronald?" Harry said, not unkindly, and Ron chuckled.

"Sorry."

"No," Harry lifted a hand to the back of his neck, his muscles feeling strained and aching from tension. "No, it's fine." His hand fell to rest against his hip as he looked down at the floor pensively.

"I just need to think about-" but they both started as a brisk tap on the window near the door floated through the room. Hedwig hovered indignantly outside, her wide white wings disheveled. Harry jumped to his feet and, crossing the room quickly, opened the window for her. She swooped in, circled the room once regally and settled herself on Harry's shoulder He twisted around to untie the small scroll secured tidily to her leg. Ron stood up and peered over Harry's shoulder.

_Dear Harry,_

_ My apologies for the tardiness of this letter. I have been out of the country on assorted business related to the matter we discussed, but I will be returning in time for the wedding. If you could be so kind as to inform Molly that I will be bringing a guest with me, if the Weasley's are able to accomodate one more. Until then, I will be hoping that you are and continue to be well._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Remus_

"Well," Ron said as Harry handed the letter over his shoulder to him absently. "Rather anticlimactic isn't it?"

"At least we know he's alright," Harry mused, offering Hedwig a few owl treats from his pocket.

"True," Ron laid his palms flat against the back of the sofa and rocked back and forth on his heels, stretching. "So, I guess we wait until the wedding."

Harry stroked Hedwig's feather's thoughtfully.

"I guess so."


End file.
